Michael WeinrebBesprekingen

College football fills a very specific sports-related need for tens of millions of Americans like myself, and you couldn't ask for a better introduction on why exactly this particular jumble of athleticism, loyalty, egalitarianism, hierarchy, tradition, greed, and (oh yeah) academics exerts the hold it does on so many people for the back third of the calendar year. Weinreb mixes in a bit of straightforward game recap, but the majority of the book is the good stuff that both hardcore fans and casual browsers will enjoy - how college football relates to the ideals of meritocracy, capitalism, heritage, entertainment, and all the other interesting parts of modern American society. It resembles nothing so much as a collection of longform articles from Grantland (which coincidentally was sadly shuttered by ESPN as I was reading this), and as it happens several of the chapters first originated there.

My own hometown of Austin is the largest in the country without a pro team in any sport, because even in down years (the Longhorns are currently finding ever-more innovative ways to get blown out) our team manages to mostly satisfy the sporting desires of a decently-sized American city. While the fact that we're surrounded by other cities with pro teams partially explains this, there's something special about the culture, the tailgating, the pageantry, the atmosphere of college sports that makes the prospect of getting a Big League team seem unnecessary. What's so special about college football?

Weinreb grew up a Penn State fan, so he gets how important college football can be to a smaller town and to the personal identity of the fans (he doesn't pull any punches regarding the Sandusky tragedy). Simply put: to the truly dedicated, college football makes a good reference point for just about everything in life, a handy narrative skeleton to attach all the messy bits of life to. As an illustration of this, here's the list of topics he covers in his chapter on UT's national championship game in 2006: Reggie Bush, Fresno State, The Twilight Zone, Todd Blackledge, the 1983 NFL draft, Tecmo Bowl, EA Sports NCAA Football, Pete Carroll, Matt Leinart, Vince Young, The Iron Bowl, Jonathan Franzen, and Tim Tebow. This unsurprisingly means that some of the pieces lean more towards pop culture than pure gameplay analysis, but it's still possible to learn a tremendous amount about the sport through the games he picks:

1. (1896) Rutgers 6, Princeton 4.
2. (1913) Notre Dame 35, Army 13.
3. (1962) Minnesota 21, UCLA 3.
4. (1966) Notre Dame 10, Michigan State 10.
5. (1969) Texas 15, Arkansas 14.
6. (1969) Michigan 24, Ohio State 12.
7. (1979) Alabama 14, Penn State 7 (Sugar Bowl).
8. (1984) Miami 31, Nebraska 30 (Orange Bowl).
9. (1985) Miami 58, Notre Dame 7.
10. (2006) Texas 41, USC 38 (Rose Bowl).
11. (2007) Boise State 43, Oklahoma 42 (Fiesta Bowl).
12. (2008) Texas Tech 39, Texas 33.
13. (2013) Auburn 34, Alabama 28 (Iron Bowl).
14. (1987) Penn State 14, Miami 10 (Fiesta Bowl).

As originally published, the book covered up to the end of the 2013 season, but thankfully the paperback version is updated for the 2014 season, where as a lagniappe Weinreb discusses two of the first games of the new College Football Playoff system:
- (2015) Oregon 59, Florida State 20 (Rose Bowl, CFP semifinal).
- (2015) Ohio State 42, Alabama 35 (Sugar Bowl, CFP semifinal).

Like many fans, myself included, Weinreb has mixed feelings about the new playoff system. While being understanding and supportive of its mission to finally Settle the Argument, he's amused and not at all surprised that the arcane and opaque selection process resolved absolutely nothing (not that I'm unbiased, but the glaring omission of the Big 12 teams was absurd), even while acknowledging why so many wanted it to happen. He covers those games even more briefly than he did before, and after a gentle dismissal of the distemperate harrumphings of bow-tied conservative goofball George Will, he closes on a perfect encapsulation of why appreciation of the sport runs so deep in so many people:

"But in order to be a college football fan, you have to embrace the beauty of the system. In order to be a college football fan, you have to take a step beyond simplicity and recognize that our sports, like our politics, like our lives, are fraught with complexities that are essentially irresolvable. If you can't handle those opposing ideas - the wondrousness and the absurdity of it all - you're probably in the wrong damned country, anyway."

Bigger than the Game is an outstanding treatise on the self-aggrandizement of the modern athlete. The author chose the year 1986 as somewhat of a watershed year. 1986 saw: Bo Jackson play two professional sports, a steroid laden and overrated linebacker at the University of Oklahoma, Brian Bozworth, become the face of the college football, the cocaine induced death of University of Maryland basketball star Len Bias, and the crowning of the Chicago Bears as NFL champions behind the brash quarterback Jim McMahon, the outspoken coach Mike Ditka, and everyone's darling 330 plus pounder William "The Refrigerator" Perry.

The theme of this book is how the modern athlete in the media age has become bigger than the sports they play. It's about narcissist self promotion, the breakdown of the team concept where there is only "I" not "we." Or, as the dust jacket says, it was "the era when athletes evolved from humble and honest to brash and branded." There is certainly a little hyperbole to this description as there are scores of athletes in all eras that fit this mold, but there was not a 24 hour news cycle and the Internet for any but the greatest superstars to rise to such fame (or infamy).

After reading this book we should have predicted the steroid scandals that have wracked baseball, track and field, and cycling, the despicable display of self adulation in the Lebron James reality TV hype surrounding his decision to leave the Cleveland Cavaliers, the sniping between superstars Kobe Bryant and Shaquille O'Neal, the Allen Iverson type athletes with great talent that can't seem to find a way to play for anything other than themselves thus never fulfilling championship potential, the criminality of college athletes with the University o f Miami football team being exhibit A and B, and even the tiresome will he, won't he perennial retirement saga of Brett Favre. Maybe it didn't all start in 1986, but the stories the author tells are a prelude of what came after.

The book centers mainly on four athletes with ESPN and the advent of 24 hour sports coverage in the foreground of the revolution. First, Jim McMahon, the "punky QB" in the clunky title, is a fascinating case of self promotion and thumbing his nose at authority, especially because he readily admits he did and does care. He went to Brigham Young University for one thing and one thing only, to start at quarterback for the football team. He didn't go to get an education or graduate, and he certainly didn't go for any religious purposes. In fact, he almost openly flaunted the rules, drinking and carousing his way through a solid college career. And then with the Bears he was the unorthodox quarterback who defied and fought with his coach, thumbed his nose at NFL commissioner Pete Rozelle, but was winner. And that's all that mattered.

Brian Bozworth, the self-admitted steroid laden Oklahoma Sooners linebacker spent much of his college career trying to gain attention. His Mohawk and constantly taking his helmet off to play to the cameras and his brash mouth made him one of the faces of college football. Of course, he was a high draft pick in the NFL and was a complete bust. Bozworth built an image that had little substance, other than steroids, behind it. I will never forget the game where Bo Jackson ran over "The Boz" on national television.

And perhaps the saddest story is the untimely cocaine induced death of Len Bias. Weinreb completely dispatches all the myths surround Bias's death. It was clear from who he hung out with and those who knew and talked about him that he was not a first time cocaine user, but appears to have at least been an occasional, recreational user of the drug. After being drafted by the Boston Celtics he went on a little cocaine binge that killed him. Len Bias may have been a great player, but a certain myth built up around his innocence, suggesting even naivety, that doesn't stand up to reality.

Bo Jackson is mostly a foil to all this. Jackson was a quiet, mostly unassuming personality who chose baseball over football but ultimately decided he wanted to play both, and did. His rise to fame from a poor, rural childhood was marked by a shyness and lack of desire for the spotlight. But he parlayed his fame into endorsement opportunities long after his untimely retirement from sports because of an unfortunate, freaky hip injury. The ability to be a relevant marketing personality long after his career was over could have only happened in burgeoning electronic era.

Despite the unfortunate choice of title, this book is very readable and bring backs memories for those whose formative years were the mid-1980s. While ultimately the theme of the book is darker one, for better or worse we live in the era that might not have started exactly in 1986, but certainly that year is as good as any to point to the beginning of the aggrandizement of the modern athlete.

Varies between a rolling stone series of essays and a really interesting anecdotal history of college football. I really enjoyed it.

An even-handed commentary on the world of college football. With snapshots of key games dating back to the early 20th century, Weinreb glories in the magic of the college game but doesn't pull any punches dealing with its many shortcomings.

This book seemed as erratic as the 'Orangutan Opening' chess maneuver described in the book. This is a jumpy, anecdotal account of a series of personalities that built dominating, dynastic high school and middle school chess programs with underprivileged kids in New York, and a cross section of those contemporary high school stars. Murrow Public High School's history is described, with jaunts into profiles of anonymous donors, Russian GrandMasters, and conflicts with competitive programs such as Chess-In-Schools. The scrappy, loose chess team coach for Murrow, Mr. Weiss, is described in detail, as are the students--each with their own personality and how it translates into their chess games. If you want a melange of chess history in America, evolution of chess away from chess halls and street games toward the internet, developmental importance on teens, cultural conflict between upper class chess players vs. the poor and immigrants, all with a youthful, go-for-broke mentality (with some pictures of chess boards and moves), then this is the book for you. For me, the book had all the requisite ingredients (although I could have used more explanation of the side games the kids were playing for fun, such as Bughouse, Blitz, Stupid, etc), but somehow it didn't come together smoothly--flipping back and forth between an upper East Side matron's historical background to the family kitchen table vignette of an immigrant, to a gymnasium chess tournament was a little kaleidoscopic.½

I was relieved it wasn't filled with commentary on matches that delved into notation and analysis of lines. Just enough detail to feel like the author took the time to know what he was talking about, but didn't feel the need to show off. I liked: the kids, the presentation of the upper-echelon high school chess world, the flashes of snarkiness, and the overall approach -- a sort of warts and all, unglamorous, critical yet compassionate look at not only the kids and the game, but the infrastructure of competitive chess.

Just didn't do it for me. Weinreb, a sports writer, turns his attention to the quirky world of competitive chess and discovers that America's leading high school chess team comes from an underprivileged neighborhood in Brooklyn. I enjoyed reading about the importance of chess in the former Soviet Union and to the new Russian immigrants flooding New York, but Weinreb sets up too shallow a dichotomy between the "haves" and "have nots," the the members of the chess team he profiles and their competitors from more elite private high schools. In his world, all the kids who go to good high schools are rich and being rich means you have no personal adversity to overcome. I might've enjoyed the book a little more if he could've stopped screaming for one second that these kids were poor.½